


Midas

by thinkbucket



Series: Mythology Series [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, headcanon: they slept together at sodden, slight porn with slight feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkbucket/pseuds/thinkbucket
Summary: She’s afraid, that if she touches her she’ll break. Not in the way that’s fragile, but in the way that explodes.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Mythology Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756774
Comments: 23
Kudos: 158





	Midas

**Author's Note:**

> forever writer's blocked on everything i wanted, take this in apology and pray for my fics 
> 
> if y'all haven't heard Midas by Skott do yourselves a favor and remedy that asap

* * *

Sodden is not the most private of places for trysts, but they make do.

It’s peculiar. Being so comfortable standing here next to Tissaia tonight, on an evening so abuzz with nerves and tangible mortality. They survey the mages and refugees around them, with a sort of small talk that has eased its way into more philosophical conversation.

Yennefer feels bitter. She cannot help it, it’s a feeling she knows too well. Because Tissaia has always managed to maintain an image of perfection. Everything around her has been close to impeccable, each situation is always under control, chaos is always ordered.

Meanwhile, despite always doing the utmost, all of Yennefer’s attempts fall short.

She is an expert at manipulation. She was manipulated by one of the greatest, thus she learned how to excel at it herself. But even that has never been enough. Istredd, Aedirn, Geralt, her best attempts at regaining her fertility. Everything that she touches shimmers briefly.

And it eventually fails.

Yennefer hates that Tissaia seems so satisfied with what she has, jealous that she could be content with so little. That when Yennefer sets her sights beyond Aretuza and the Brotherhood, and everything around her goes to shit, all she gets is Tissaia de Vries marching up to her and effectively declaring, _I told you so_.

But that is not their conversation. Yes, Tissaia clearly has sympathy for Yennefer’s lack of real satisfaction in spite of her several lifetimes worth of living upon the Continent. But she seems convinced of something that Yennefer is not.

_You still have so much left to give._

Yennefer wants to scoff but falters in the face of such sincerity. Instead, she finishes her ale, setting the tankard down beside her with a thud. She glances at Tissaia, but the woman’s eyes have caught on the corner of her mouth. Yennefer swipes a tongue across her lip deliberately, tasting some remnant of ale, and Tissaia’s eyes track the movement before flitting back up Yennefer’s.

What could Yennefer possibly have left to give? How Tissaia can even claim such a thing with such certainty is absurd. She maintains eye contact with Tissaia, the expression on whose face is indecipherable. The Rectoress of Aretuza has always erred on the side of cryptic with her words and been less than forthcoming with her facial expressions. But after tomorrow they may be dead, and Yennefer is tired of being frustrated, never fully understanding her former instructor. So she reaches out and into her mind, curious. The noise all around them dulls to a hum as Tissaia opens up immediately, letting Yennefer in just a bit, but enough.

But Yennefer doesn’t find the answer she’s looking for, nor did Tissaia invite her in to give her one.

Instead, she’s overcome with a warm, solid tenderness, a fiery admiration, an overwhelming mix of emotions that she had no idea the sorceress was capable of. She realizes, as she lets the thoughts consume her, that Tissaia knows it too. That this is probably the end, if not for both of them, likely for at least one. There is no purpose in hiding anything any longer. The cards are laid out on the table now.

A tremor runs through Yennefer. She closes her eyes and closes off her mind. It’s rampaging now, the smallest taste of Tissaia’s mind has awoken emotions within Yennefer she thought she’d long killed and buried.

She wants Tissaia.

Has always wanted her, with a ferocious sort of wanting. As a girl, taken from her excuse of a family and thrust into a strange new world, the sole object of her hatred and desire had become the Rectoress. Touching herself at night in her room, sobbing as she recalled the words that no one would ever love her, conflicted by the tiniest appraising smiles that Tissaia afforded her. She’d never coveted Istredd’s affection the way she did Tissaia’s. Istredd was someone that she already had, but this woman, she was untouchable. Sleeping with Geralt had never come close to making her shudder the way she did when she pictured Tissaia between her thighs.

And perhaps it bordered on desperate, but Yennefer had not a few times cast spells when sleeping with another woman, enchanting them to look as she desired, with brown hair and sharp cheekbones, and that had worked for her. A little.

Tissaia is watching the goings on of the camp when Yennefer finally reopens her eyes. And if she had not just glimpsed the internal workings of the woman’s mind mere moments ago, she might be affronted with the apparent lack of attention. As it is, Yennefer wants those eyes on her, and her only. She takes a deep and steadying breath. Waiting, patient, for Tissaia to turn back to her, aching to know what comes next.

But Tissaia does not look back at Yennefer. Instead, she turns and walks away from her.

Yennefer watches her. The sound of the woman’s retreating footsteps are quickly swallowed by the noise of the encampment. Bewildered, Yennefer tries to make sense of what just transpired, when she hears it.

_Are you coming, Yennefer?_

Yennefer all but runs after her.

* * *

They find a quiet place, a small room that must have been a servant’s quarters. It’s dusty, but it has a bed, and after Tissaia whispers a few words in Elder, the room is adequate.

Everything happens very quickly after that.

Yennefer can’t help it, she can’t, her nerves are on fire and she’s wanted this for too long. She doesn’t wait for Tissaia to speak, she doesn’t look for any cues, she dives in and her starved lips find Tissaia’s soft ones.

At first, it’s gentle, despite the urgency. They only have tonight, but Yennefer has thought of this too many times to do it wrong. Her arms wrap around the smaller woman’s frame, drawing her closer, but not too tight. Tissaia’s hands come up to Yennefer’s neck, tugging her down just a bit more, then tangling in her hair. Her tongue swipes against Yennefer’s lip, and she opens up greedily.

Tissaia starts to move backwards, slow, and Yennefer follows after her, refusing to let go. When they reach the bed, Tissaia sits down and Yennefer nudges her softly so that she lies on her back.

And then Tissaia is staring up at Yennefer and the younger woman is struck with the reality of what is happening.

She looks down at the other sorceress, at the woman whose face has haunted her dreams for decades, her expression frustratingly calm for someone who has just had a tongue down their throat, the only indicator of which is slightly swollen lips and Tissaia catching her breath slightly.

She quells the feeling that surges in her chest.

It’s ridiculous, really. Yennefer is usually so quick to action, she rarely hesitates to simply reach out and grab what she wants. But something makes this different. It makes her feel weak, when she has always been obsessed with feeling strong.

Tentatively, Yennefer reaches out a hand and strokes Tissaia’s face, watching as she tilts slightly into the touch and smirks, a soft twist of the lips that Yennefer wants to kiss away and keep kissing forever.

But she waits, because now Tissaia’s hands are coming up behind Yennefer’s back to pull at the strings and loosen her dress. Yennefer enjoys the sensation for a moment before deciding that she also wants to unclothe Tissaia, and deftly begins to undo the buttons on her gown. Tissaia pulls Yennefer’s dress off her shoulders with a care that threatens to also lay bare her soul. When they both finally shrug out of their garments, Yennefer settles astride Tissaia, and the younger woman doesn’t know where to begin.

Tissaia is a masterpiece, an immaculate goddess, trapped between the bed and Yennefer’s body, and she is waiting on Yennefer.

But Yennefer can’t bring herself to move. Her eyes are riveted onto Tissaia’s, and in them she sees the whirlwind of emotions that she had glimpsed earlier, echoing what Yennefer herself feels. But her face remains still, her chest rises and falls with each breath, and Yennefer wants to know if her heart is beating as fast as her own is.

Yennefer marvels quietly as she begins to trail her eyes over Tissaia’s form. The pale, soft skin makes her mouth water. Her breasts have Yennefer’s fingers itching. She swallows.

She’s afraid, that if she touches her she’ll break. Not in the way that’s fragile, but in the way that explodes.

Tissaia seems to sense the indecision, the desire battling against apprehension, and perhaps she takes pity on Yennefer, because she places a hand on her cheek and cups it oh so gently. And then --

She is everywhere, her hands are on her neck, her lips are devouring Yennefer’s, their breasts pressed fully against each others’, her thoughts are reaching out and entreating Yennefer’s own, asking permission, and Yennefer thinks that perhaps she will be the one to explode with the flood of all the sensations.

Yennefer caresses Tissaia’s face, her hair, her breasts, with frenzied touches, and Yennefer can feel the soft sighs against her lips, can feel the goosebumps raise underneath her fingertips. She can’t help but love that, that she’s responsible for this.

“Yennefer,” quiet, barely heard.

She draws back, to look into Tissaia’s eyes. They’re wide and dark; there’s a bead of sweat forming above them upon her forehead. She feels her want, her lust, her _love_ , their bodies are tangled together as much as their thoughts, and Yennefer has to kiss her to stop from thinking. And she doesn’t think she’s ever kissed anyone this passionately. She’s never felt so strongly.

Tissaia brings her hand on top of Yennefer’s and drags it down, down, down. And as it reaches the area between Tissaia’s thighs, she presses in, presses down, and moans so sweet that Yennefer clenches her own legs around Tissaia. The brunette releases the other woman’s hand in favor of gripping the sheet beside her as Yennefer sinks a finger into wet, wet heat.

“Oh,” Tissaia breathes out. Takes a shuddering gasp in.

Yennefer slowly draws out her finger, before pushing it back in with another. The resounding moan sears itself upon Yennefer’s mind, better than she’d ever imagined it. She watches her face as she slowly begins to fuck her, notices the way her eyebrows draw together, the shape her mouth makes, sees the tendons in her neck strain when she swallows. Transfixed, she continues to pump her fingers in and out of Tissaia, who has begun to writhe below her. She angles her hand just so, and Yennefer can’t get enough of the woman’s soft moans.

It’s not long. It’s some minutes before Tissaia is clenching hard around Yennefer’s hand and gasping, hands gripping her back hard and grabbing her close.

They lie there together, holding onto each other and catching their breath before Tissaia pulls back a little to look at Yennefer. A beat passes, and then she’s smirking and pushing the raven haired woman onto her back. She kisses her way down her body, and Yennefer has the feeling that despite the urgency of tomorrow, they will not be getting much rest tonight.

* * *


End file.
